


a private discussion

by Anonymous



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Aftercare, BSDM, Beating, Cock Cages, F/M, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 11:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18991342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ophelia sees right through Caleb.





	a private discussion

There’s an envelope waiting for him at the Leaky Tap, a week after they return to Zadash. The note inside is written in Zemnian with almost calligraphic precision. His presence is requested at the Evening Nip, that evening if it’s to his convenience, by Ophelia Mardun.

It’s an odd note. It’s addressed to only him, and the language makes it even clearer that this is not a summons for the party. He can’t imagine what business she’d have for him alone, and a social call seems unlikely. She’d barely spoken with them on the road to Zadash. But there seems little enough harm in investigating, and it would be best to stay on her good side. He sends back a note informing her he’ll be there tonight.

When he arrives, he’s met immediately by Dweez, and shown to a chamber in the back. The Gentleman seems to be out, he notes as he passes through. At least, he’s not in the bar area, and there are no giggles coming from the balcony upstairs. Caleb is left in front of the door to Ophelia’s room. He straightens his shoulders, sets his face to match the impression he’d given back in Shady Creek, and knocks on the door.

Ophelia lets him wait there for a minute before the door opens. The room inside is a bit cramped but nicely furnished: a wide four-poster bed with dark red sheets, a fine wooden chest at its foot, a small silk-covered couch, a wardrobe and vanity. Most noticeable though is Ophelia herself. She’s wearing the same military outfit from when they’d first met, immaculate and polished even in this shady bar.

“I’m glad you could make it,” she says, in their common tongue. “I’ve been hoping to talk with you more, but I had business to attend to first.”

“I’m honored,” Caleb replied in the same language, “but may I ask why? I’d thought our job was complete.”

“It is,” she said, “and admirably done. I wanted to speak about more personal matters. It’s not often that I meet another from the Zemni Fields.”

“Is that why you called me here?” he asked. “To reminisce about home? You don’t seem the sentimental type.” He focused on keeping his face steady, his voice strong until he could figure out her real purpose.

Ophelia laughed. “You’re quite correct. I do have my fond memories, but none I care to share with a near-stranger.”

“I prefer my privacy as well,” he said. 

“I have no intention of prying,” she replied. “But you can drop the act, you know.”

Caleb cocked his head. “Pardon?”

She waved her hand impatiently. “This little show you’re putting on. ‘I’m a serious killer, I’m all business.’ I fully understand the necessity, considering the circumstances under which we met. But one of my men saw you hyperventilating outside the chateau back in Shady Creek Run, and that rather killed it. It was quite a good façade, but it’s been obvious for some time now.”

Caleb tensed, let anger and fear push his back even straighter. “So is that why you’ve asked me here? To exploit that weakness?” 

“No, not at all,” Ophelia said with a smile. “Or – only in a sense, perhaps. Frankly, I find it attractive - both the competence of your act, and the thought of what I’ll get when you drop it. I merely wanted to ask if you have plans for the evening.”

Ah. This – wasn’t out of nowhere, he supposed. He’d seen the way she looked at him back in Shady Creek Run. She’d had the sense to hold off then at least.

“Not as such,” he said carefully. “Are you making an offer? Or a demand?”

She looked genuinely taken aback, for just a moment. Then her face returned to its usual expression. “I wouldn’t have you against your will. But I enjoy – taking control of a situation. And you seem like a man who would appreciate that.” She took a step closer to him, tipped back his chin with one dark grey hand. “What do you say?”

She’s an appealing woman, he has to admit. He’s grown hard, just a bit, over the last few minutes of conversation, of imagining what she might want to do. But who is he to be wandering off on trysts, wasting time on pleasure that he should focus on redeeming his mistakes?

She dropped his chin. He’d been silent too long. “Well, that’s fine,” she said. “I’ll find another way to pass the time. Best of luck to you and your friends.”

“No, wait,” he said, before he could stop himself. “I do want to.” It will be good to have her as an ally, he told himself. That’s the reason he was accepting. Not the growing pressure in his cock, not the thought of sharp-tipped hands on his body.

Ophelia grinned, wide and wicked. “Well then. We’re going to have some fun.” She looked him up and down, gaze lingering a bit over his neck and shirt-collar. “Take that coat off, hmm?” she said. “You’ve cleaned up a bit since last time I saw you, but that thing is foul.”

Caleb flushed and removed his coat, folding it neatly and placing it by the door, relieved that he’d bathed not too long before coming here.

Ophelia chuckled a little at the sight of his book holsters. “Take those off too,” she said. “The shirt as well.”

He complied, and cursed himself for blushing harder as he removed his shirt. He wasn't a shy man, or a vain one, but her eyes on him were intent, enough to make him uncomfortably aware of his visible ribs and concave chest. 

Ophelia seemed happy enough though. “Good, you’re acceptably clean. Rather what I was hoping for under there too. I do like a bit of a handhold.” She placed one hand on his furry chest, wrapped some of the hair around his fingers. 

Steam must be coming out of his ears. How long had it been, since he’d been in a situation like this? What should he do with his hands? He wanted to rest them on Ophelia’s hips, but suspected she wouldn’t appreciate it. Better to wait and let her call the shots.

She was leaning closer still, tugging him towards her. She wore some kind of perfume, cinnamon and spice, laid over the starch and boot oil scents of her clothing. She nipped at his ear, sending a shock though his whole body, and he gasped despite himself. 

She leaned back, smiling that sharp-toothed smile again. “Now. I have a certain way I like to do things, and I do like to play a little rough. So two rules: one, you tell me to stop and I stop immediately. Two, you don’t touch so much as my hair without permission. Acceptable?”

That sounded very fair. And he certainly didn’t mind rough. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “That’s highly acceptable.”

She smiled even wider, displaying her fangs. “You know how to play already,” she said. “Although it’s Lady Mardun, really.”

“My apologies, Lady Mardun,” Caleb replied, focusing on keeping his voice steady. She stepped back from him, and walked to the chest by the foot of the bed. When she returned, it was with a riding crop, black leather, hanging casually from her fingers. She ran it down his body, feather-light, tracing a line from his chest to just above his waistband. Her eyes followed it, clearly noticing his half-hard dick pressing through the worn fabric of his pants.

She reached down to slide the top button there open, brushing against him just enough to make him shiver. “Take those off too,” she said. “No point hiding that from me.” He pulled off his pants and drawers, piling them with his other clothing, and stood before her again, totally exposed. She was still fully dressed in her tailored uniform, not a hair out of place.

She bent in to touch him again, one hand grabbing the back of his neck, her mouth running over the front, open just enough for him to feel her sharp teeth. She traced her way to just above his collarbone, and bit down hard on the meat there, enough to just break the skin. He fought back a cry, didn’t entirely succeed. He tried not to think about what else she might do with those teeth, with that riding crop. He wanted to hold onto some dignity, not get too excited too quickly.

“Very good,” she said, pulling back. “Just the kind of noise I like. I’m going to enjoy this. She lifted the crop out again, running it over his arms, his neck, his torso. She’d flick it occasionally, not a strike yet but the promise of one. “You know, I never found out what you do in battle. You don’t look much like a physical fighter, no offence. What is your angle?”

“I though this was a tryst, not an interrogation,” said Caleb. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m sure we both understand the value of privacy.”

“I certainly do,” said Ophelia. “I don’t intend to pry. It’s just much more satisfying to cut someone down to size if I know how much power they’re holding back.”

“My talents are of the arcane variety,” he said. That was vague enough to give up to her.

“I see,” she said. “Bookish type, but explosive when necessary. I’ll use my imagination for the details. I’m sure you’ll not try any of that here, hmm?”

“I wouldn't dare,” he said truthfully.

“Very good,” she said, nodding. She flicked the riding crop at him again, playfully. “Put your hands out in front of you.”

He extended his arms partway, palms up. She let him stand there and wait while she searched through the open chest by the bed. A tingle of nervousness ran through him. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But she had no cause to do him harm, and he wanted to see where this was going. 

She stood up again, holding a coil of white rope. She walked back towards him slowly, giving him time to anticipate. He tried not to stare overtly, but she was an arresting sight: her tall, immaculate figure, her tail swishing back and forth under her long hair. 

She unfolded the rope and tied it loosely around his wrists, then tugged to pull the loop closed, binding his hands together. Caleb wriggled his arms, testing the knot. He’d had some practice getting out of these, but she’d tied it secure, though not painful. She noticed him trying, and grinned again.

“I don’t think you’ll have much luck with that,” she said. “But I appreciate the effort. Are you going to be good, or do I need to tie up anything else?”

“I’ll do what you tell me to, Lady Mardun,” he said. He paused, considering his next words, then decided he was already committed. He may as well lean further into the game. “But I do sometimes get into trouble if I’m left to my own devices.”

“I imagine so,” she said. Her eyes traveled over his body, and he felt himself grow awkward again. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that. The increasing hardness in his cock didn’t help matters either, and that was where Ophelia chose to focus her attention. She was holding the riding crop again, running it over his hips and thighs, then very slowly across the underside of his cock. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

He was blushing, he realized in horror. Little chance that would fit in with the scenario she had going, but she was only grinning wider. “You’ll have to stay put again while I get some more equipment.” She tied another piece of rope through the coils around his wrists, then secured the other end to one of the bedposts, and left him there while she went back to the chest.

He took the opportunity to pace, investigating the range of the rope, since she’d seemed to like watching him test the limits before. It didn’t take long for her to return, one hand hidden behind her back. “Hold still,” she told him. “I have something for you.”

He backed away, just to see what she’d do, pulling the rope almost taut. “Will I like it, Lady Mardun?” he asked.

“I’m sure you will,” she said. “Now hold still.” She whacked him sharply on the hip with the riding crop, hard enough to sting. Then she pulled her other hand out from behind her back.

She held a small metal cage, roughly cylindrical, with a large metal ring at one end and a small lock on the top. It wasn’t hard to figure out what it was meant to be. He’d never used one, but he’d trawled through enough smut shops to recognize the concept.

He held very still as she slid it onto him. Slightly hard as he was, it was rather uncomfortable, and he did his best to picture swamp trolls and scrambled eggs. It softened him enough that the cage could slide on, and he took a deep breath as Ophelia clicked the lock shut. 

She set the key on the vanity, far across the room. “There we go,” she said. “I’ll let you out later, if you’re good.”

He wasn’t good, of course, but he liked the thought of her saying he was. Of telling him how well he’d done as she unlocked the cage. “Do you want me to, er, service you, Lady Mardun?” he asked. 

She laughed and shook her head. “That’s not my cup of tea. I had something else in mind.” She untied the rope around the bedpost, and tugged down, signaling for him to drop to his knees. Digging a hand into his hair, she tilted his head back and looked him over again. If it hadn’t been for the metal cage, the sight of her above him would have brought him hard again.

She rearranged him so that his forearms were braced against the bed. After going to the chest a final time, she moved behind him, and he felt something thud across his back. Not the crop, but a longer, heavier implement, something with multiple strands.

It hit again, and he let out a gasp. “Can you take more?” Ophelia asked. 

“I’ll take anything you give,” he said. It hurt, but in almost a comforting way. Pain not meant to kill or maim, but given out of goodwill. It was familiar, brought back memories somehow not tainted, of things done for his own good, to make him stronger. 

He closed his eyes as she hit him again, and again. He was strong, the feeling reminded him. He would survive and fight and claw until he’d done what he had to do. He pictured Ophelia, standing behind him, powerful and sure of herself. He’d do a good job, make her glad she’d picked him for this.

She hit harder, on a spot already sensitive, and he cried out, the small noise escaping despite himself. “Are you done?” Ophelia asked him.

“No,” he said, cursing himself. “Please, Lady Mardun, keep going. I can take more than this.” He still couldn’t see her but it was easy to picture her grin, those fangs peaking over her lips again. 

She didn’t answer verbally, but swung faster and harder. The pain was there in his body, but he didn’t have to be there with it. He let himself detach, counting each stroke but not really feeling it. He was doing well. He’d hang on through this, through the hard part, and then she’d be there to help him and let him know how well he’d done. 

After a while, he lost track of the number. He couldn’t have counted them aloud if he’d wanted to. He went off to the place in his mind he was accustomed to visit when he was dying, or learning. He was just here, a body next to a guardian. He couldn’t have told you where here was. It didn’t occur to him to care.

He didn’t even notice when she stopped. Eventually, he became aware of dark red sheets under his face. He took inventory slowly. He was lying on his side. He was nude under a blanket. Someone’s hand was on his hair. His hands were free, and his back stung like a motherfucker.

“There you are,” said Ophelia, as he tried to sit up. “That was beautiful. How are you feeling?”

He tried to speak, found himself hoarse. She passed him a glass of water. 

“I’ve been – missing that feeling for a long time,” he choked out. It would be another good memory to go back to, when he was scared or unsure – that floating, secure moment.

“You seemed to go somewhere else quite quickly,” she said. “It was somewhere good, then?”

“It was. Thank you, for taking me through that.”

“My pleasure,” she said, smiling that sharp smile again. “Speaking of which…” She waved a grey hand towards the device on his crotch. “I think you’ve earned the key to that back. Unless you want to keep it on until a return visit?”

He let himself imagine it for a moment, but then declined. “I have some very perceptive friends,” he said. “And we’re likely to leave town soon. It could become inconvenient.”

“A shame,” she said, as she pulled the key from a pocket and unlocked the cage. “Well, if you make it back to town, drop by to see me again.” She leaned around to look at his back. “You’ve got a couple scrapes back there. I’ll clean them up before you go.”

“There’s no need,” he said, starting to get up. A wave of dizziness hit him, and she looked at him sharply. 

“Lie down,” she told him. He complied. She had a tray with warm water and other supplies. She must have had it brought up while he was spaced out. He lay on his front while she washed off his back. 

“Nothing too bad,” she said. “But keep yourself clean for a few days. Make sure they don’t get infected.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised. It was strange, lying here with her hands on his bare back – a less familiar sensation than the comforting pain before. She was businesslike, but careful, gentler than she needed to be for such small wounds.

She finished up, and tossed him his clothes. “Don’t mention this last bit,” she said. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Of course,” he told her, then dressed and made his way to the door. He wasn't about to try and explain any of this to his friends.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd appreciate any feedback on the BSDM in this; I was writing a little out of my comfort zone.


End file.
